


yours to hold

by thisissirius



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3354095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Patrick chooses the cologne he knows Jonny likes best, and actually picks shoes that aren’t sneakers. It will be worth it when Jonny’s lip curls upward in that smile Patrick’s always desperate to see, even when he pretends he doesn’t give a shit.</i> </p><p>in which patrick actually does give a shit (and so does jonny, apparently)</p>
            </blockquote>





	yours to hold

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first fic in forEVER and i choose to write valentines day fluff. I KNOW. sorry. 
> 
> or not really :D
> 
> thanks to mar and julia for reading this over for me. you PERFECT PAIR. ilu. <3<3

Patrick’s never put a label to this thing he has with Jonny. 

He thinks about it sometimes, mostly when they’re fucking, and Jonny’s looking down at him all intense and serious, like this is _it_. He files it away under things that only happen when Jonny’s dick is in his ass, because he never sees it otherwise. He doesn’t care if they don’t know what it is, mostly because he’s sure neither of them have ever figured it out.

Best friends has always seemed too much, simple friends not enough. They’re somewhere in between, and yet intense all the same. Patrick doesn’t think he knows anybody else - even himself, sometimes - as much as he knows Jonny. It seemed - _natural_ for them to progress to nakedness and dicks and everything inbetween. 

Which is why, when Jonny texts to tell him to come over at seven and not to be late, Patrick rolls his eyes, but makes a mental note to do so. He doesn’t have anything else to do; it’s nice to have some downtime, especially when the last couple of games have been shitty, win or no. He sees Jonny’s bed in his immediate future, but he’s never really been the dressy type, even when he should be. (Wearing a polo to a wedding was a baller choice, he doesn’t even care what his sisters say.)

That said, he chooses the cologne he knows Jonny likes best, and actually picks shoes that aren’t sneakers. It will be worth it when Jonny’s lip curls upward in that smile Patrick’s always desperate to see, even when he pretends he doesn’t give a shit. 

Now that Jonny’s moved to suburbia (seriously, what is up with that?!), Patrick can’t choose to walk along the waterfront like he used to, so he climbs into the Hummer, already cursing the traffic he knows is waiting for him. Typically enough, he doesn’t get far before he’s stuck, and sends a text, bemoaning Jonny’s choice of house. 

_shut the fuck up, you love it_

Patrick does, actually, but only because Jonny’s still on his ridiculous garden kick, with vegetable patches and patio and even a pond. Patrick can’t begrudge him, though, especially not when Jonny’s out there weeding or whatever the fuck he does, shirt off and muscles rippling in the afternoon sun. He’s smoking, and Patrick’s not going to pretend he doesn’t enjoy watching.

Still. He could live a little closer and save Patrick having to _drive_ all the time. 

_You’re still a dick._

He tosses his phone on the passenger seat and taps his fingers on the wheel in a rhythm that has nothing to do with the song blaring out of his radio. He rolls his neck, working out kinks and settles back for the drive, hoping that Jonny doesn’t opt for Thai food. Again. He never fucks up Patrick’s order, which is great, but the last few times Jonny’s opted for delivery time rather than choice. 

Jonny has a drive now, and though Patrick appreciates having a space he can pull into with ease, it’s still weird as fuck to think Jonny’s a step away from being Sharpy. That step being the wife and kids, obviously, and something seizes at Patrick’s heart. They’re not - he’s never going to begrudge Jonny that, the dude deserves to be happy, but it still throws Patrick off whenever he thinks about it. Making a face at himself in the mirror, he settles his cap better on his head and climbs out of the car. 

He can see the lights on in Jonny’s living room, and something flickering that he assumes is the television. Figures that Jonny wouldn’t even be waiting for him, the asshole. Rolling his eyes fondly, Patrick thumbs the fob and then grabs for the key to Jonny’s. Patrick still remembers getting it, sitting on the floor of Jonny’s condo, bitching about the amount of boxes Jonny seemed to have for the sparse decoration of his apartment, when Jonny had handed it over with a sigh, telling him to shut the fuck up, and he’d need it when they got to the other end. 

Patrick’s never given it back, but then Jonny’s never asked for it either. 

He kicks off his shoes in the doorway, and Jonny’s not even there to greet him, what the fuck. He could have worn sneakers after all. He’s already shouting, “Hey, man,” as he tosses his keys into the dish on the table, and walks through to the living room. “You could at least come say hi.”

To his surprise, Jonny’s not actually sitting on the couch watching TV. He’s hovering in the entranceway to the dining room, looking shifty as hell. 

“What’s up?” Patrick shrugs out of his jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch. “You look weird.”

“Uh,” Jonny says, and then scowls. “I do not look weird.”

“Whatever,” Patrick says, leaning a hip against the couch. “What did you order me anyway?”

Jonny lets out a breath. Patrick doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, but Jonny always manages to throw Patrick off kilter, so isn’t totally surprised. “We’re not ordering out.”

It’s not totally weird, what with Jonny wanting to grow his own shit - which Patrick inevitably has to try out himself - so Patrick shrugs. “So what are we eating?”

The weird expression is back and Jonny hesitates before he says. “Come see.”

Only slightly worried about the way Jonny’s behaving, Patrick crosses the room to peer around the door - and freezes. The flickering he’d seen outside was candles. That are sitting in the middle of the table. There are glasses for that ridiculous french wine Jonny loves so much and actual, honest to good food that Jonny’s obviously cooked judging by the mountain of dishes on the draining board and oh god, what is this.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, and it comes out a little strangled because he doesn’t know what the hell is going on. “What is this?”

“I thought - it’s, you don’t have to,” Jonny says, or doesn’t say, because none of that makes sense. 

Patrick swallows, that heart seizing thing happening again and he rubs the back of his neck. “Now I feel bad that I didn’t dress up.”

It breaks the tension and Jonny rolls his eyes, lip curling up into a smile. 

“Not that you told me anything about this,” Patrick continues, walking around the table. Oh jesus, it’s steak. Jonny cooks the best steak (not that he’s ever going to tell his mom) and Patrick’s not sure what he’s feeling exactly, but he can’t help the stupid grin he throws at Jonny. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Jonny actually looks a little embarrassed. “Well it’s today and I know we don’t - Maman said I should show you ‘cause we’re not really that great at talking'.”

Patrick can’t argue with that. Though the fact that Jonny’s asking his _mom_ about him, oh god, maybe they are putting a label on this thing after all. “Wait, what’s today?”

“Valentines day, Patrick.” Jonny says it like he’s a moron, which is fair, but excuse him, it’s not like Patrick actively keeps track of a holiday that’s been the source of so much irritation in the past. 

Holding onto the back of his chair, Patrick looks down at the table. “I don’t exactly keep track.”

There silence isn't uncomfortable and Patrick’s thankful that Jonny knows him as well as he does. If he were anyone else, he’d probably be upset, but Jonny just pulls out his own chair. “Don’t let it go cold, man. I didn’t cook it so that you could stare at it all night.”

Patrick pretends not to see his shaking hands as he sits down, reaching up to pull his cap off. “You better have done it-”

“-medium?” Jonny says, lips quirking. He’s a smug bastard, but Patrick will give him that one. “I thought about doing it rare, but god forbid you bitch me out like you do waiters.”

“Seriously, why the fuck can’t anyone take a steak order properly?” Patrick’s gearing up to continue, but then he looks across the table, and fuck this candlelight, it’s making something flutter in Patrick’s stomach. He swallows, fiddling with his fork. He wants to keep watching Jonny, the stupid fucker, smiling like he’s the best goddamn thing Patrick’s ever seen. It would be annoying if it wasn’t so painfully true, and Patrick wants to say something, wants to tell Jonny so _much_ , but he can’t make his voice work. 

Shit, he knows he’s emotional sometimes, but he’s fairly sure there’s a telltale sting behind his eyes. “Thanks, man.”

His voice is gravelly and raw, but Jonny doesn’t say anything if he notices. He’s already started eating while Patrick’s figuring out what the hell is going on inside of his head, but when he looks up, he pauses. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks a little embarrassed again, but he grins. “Yeah, well. I’m a romantic.”

It’s something stupid that Patrick said years ago for a ridiculous interview when they were kids, but it reminds Patrick of something else; it’s not like he’s ever been able to forget things about Jonny, no matter how little or insignificant they seem, and he opens his mouth to say all this, but once again, he doesn’t know how. 

Jonny’s face goes a little soft. “Hey.”

Patrick doesn’t even care that his steak is probably going to be cold by the time he actually starts eating it. He cares more about this, about what Jonny’s trying to say without actually saying anything at all, and drops his fork back onto the table. Jonny looks surprised for a split second, before Patrick can finally make his mouth say what he wants it to. “I love you.”

Jonny’s eyes widen a fraction before he flushes again, looking pleased. “Yeah?”

Nodding, Patrick clutches at the edge of the table a little harder than he means to. “I thought maybe you didn’t, because you get this look, but only when we’re fucking, and I thought - I thought it was just for then.”

“You’re a moron,” Jonny says, but it sounds _fond_ , and oh fuck, Patrick never expected _this_ to come out of tonight. “I can’t turn it off.”

Patrick kind of doesn’t want him to. Ever. “That’s good. So, uh, you too, right?”

Jonny rolls his eyes. “I figured the dinner and fucking candles would say that for me.”

“Always taking the easy way out,” Patrick says, with a mock sigh. “It’s a good job I know how to speak Jonny.”

The smile gets wider every time Patrick looks up, and he’s pretty sure it can’t get any bigger. “It would be unfair if that was one sided too.”

Patrick gets what he’s trying to say and ducks his head, finally cutting up his steak and eating. It would be shame to waste it, even if he does want to kick back his chair and just fuck Jonny against the wall. There’s time for that later.

From the way Jonny’s looking at him, a mixture of heat and affection and something close to love, Patrick’s pretty sure they’re in this for the long haul.

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
